


Following Colours

by supercalifragili



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercalifragili/pseuds/supercalifragili
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn hears the blue and white in the way Liam talks, words tumbling out of his chewed-pink lips, the whisper and the excitement, the moan and the sob under the far stars in the nights veiled by clouds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Following Colours

Zayn is a white in the scale of Hartman’s personality profile. Although he was uncertain about the accuracy of the results, he took one of those personality tests online and his dominant shade was white, second following was blue. Zayn thinks Liam is a blue, a white, a red and a yellow, he is all four. There’s so much _Liam_ to gather in one test, it’s never enough.

Zayn watches and scrutinizes people, he does it because that’s just him, he does it because he needs to _know_ before approaching somebody. He needs to know how people speak and listen, he needs to see their hand gestures and the expression that marks their faces, he needs to make sure they’re not going to hurt him- sometimes he doesn’t follow his latter precaution. He thinks analytically and emotions come later.

When he met Liam he thinks all his mind was of an electric blue- it’s still blue. There was blue when he saw his golden brown hair swooped to the side, there was blue when he sang snippets of songs Zayn recalls from his young age. There was blue when for just fleeting seconds they would meet eyes, his brown gleaming in the low lights of their room and Zayn would lower his head quickly, heart thumping frantically inside his body, blood rushing at the speed of light through his veins.

When Zayn looks at Liam he can see those four colours, there’s white in his mind, red in his actions, blue in his smiles, yellow in the way he moves.

As they lay in bed together the way Liam moves transforms into a white, but there’s a lively yellow in his actions, the carelessness and gentleness that mould together in a swirl of contrasting thoughts, the way he asks unsure _did I hurt you?_ And Zayn noses at the long line of his neck murmuring how good he feels because he feels good when Liam touches him and when Liam’s around him with his eyes and mouth and hands and everything.

For a long time, Zayn didn’t build castles of sand because he knew they would drop or get hit and destroyed by other people. He recalls building a sandcastle when he was still little, playing by the playground three minutes away from home. He held his blue bucket and scoop, settled himself on the corner of the sandbox and started filling his bucket, he levelled it up and _‘Doniya, look! I’m making a castle!’_ and Doniya, with her long auburn hair and the brightness of her smile, patted him on the head cooing teasingly _‘Stop, I’m six!’,_ he huffed.

He went on shaping the castle and adding little trivial particulars almost wishing his mum was there to see. Proud of his work he stood up, ran to his sister sitting on an old bench and asked her to snap a picture with the throwaway Kodak she always carried in her purse. When he came back, just in time (or not), feet were stomping on his castle, reducing it to a mere mass of sand; the kids were laughing and Doniya yelled at them while he stood there looking at his so-far-gone castle, he wished he didn’t cry on the walk back home.

He drew them when Liam appeared and collided into his life, castle and towers and bridges, things that he never thought he could draw again, he did. Lines were smoother and thicker, no real technique, no real shade, but Liam made it happen.

He built a three bucket castle with Liam by his side one chilly afternoon back home in Bradford and he laughed and snickered and giggled while holding his old blue bucket and scoop. Liam with his dark coat and a beanie watched him attentively and whispered _‘We have to take a picture of this Zayn, it looks amazing’_ and Zayn thought he’d never want Liam to stop praising him. The picture is Zayn’s lock screen on his phone now.

Zayn saw the blue and red in Liam that afternoon, wind swooshing through his hair and the sun hidden in the stretch of the sky. Liam’s hands were blue that day, chilly, but safe on a cold day of November. Zayn never builds sand castles with people, he doesn’t know if they’ll crumple, but Liam makes him want to construct all shapes and forms of sand because he knows Liam will never take them down.

Zayn hears the blue and white in the way Liam talks, words tumbling out of his chewed-pink lips, the whisper and the excitement, the moan and the sob under the far stars in the nights veiled by clouds.

Liam sings a lot. Liam’s voice is all spectrums of colours, Zayn watches the white and yellow and red and blue all together. He hears it too when he wakes up during early mornings and Liam’s voice resonates through the open door of their bathroom, the calculated cadence and it’s drive, the low rumble and the signature falsetto, he can feel it all on his skin as if Liam’s making love to him right there; his skin erupts in goosebumps under the blankets and his cock swells until he has to stand up and think about joining Liam in the shower _this bloody early, God’s sake_. Giggling, he curses a _so damn whipped_ to the bright sun that filters through the draperies.

Liam dances too, Zayn watches him while he jumps and runs and his hips move languorously in front of thousands of people every night. Sometimes Zayn laughs because he’s too much, he does too much, and other times he’s scared Liam is burning out on thoughts only. Sometimes Zayn’s happy he dances to let it all wash off and other times he worries Liam will only get out there and tire himself out deciding on not talking about what he feels. When he’s out there, Liam's body shines of a yellow.

Liam flashes of a red in the studio, surrounded by beat makers, microphones, guitars and mixers. He knows what to do and he jumps on the idea, his grin is of a permanent yellow and his voice screams white as he speaks in a serene tone. Zayn usually doesn’t go to the studio, but when he does he falls in love over again: he falls in love with the way Liam exults when he comes up with a beat and some lines of a song without a title click. He falls in love when Liam’s sits him on his lap and mouths at his neck, hand resting on the small of his back. He falls in love when before leaving the studio, Liam holds him by his wrists and kisses him like he’s never kissed Zayn before and passion burns Zayn’s lips in that moment.

Zayn built a sand castle when he met Liam, a little one, no windows, no embellishments- nothing; he was ready for it to fall somehow, but after four years he added buckets and he worked meticulously with shovels and such. Liam unconsciously helped him building it with words and touches and love and Zayn is grateful. As he looks at his castle, the one he built holding Liam’s hand during this four years, he knows that he will fight for it to stand, he won’t just stand there and look at it plunge on the floor, he won’t cry and wait for somebody to try and fix it. He will hold his little blue shovel, smooth the rough edges and mends bits that threaten to crumble.

The castle is still there and he hopes it’ll stay forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Hartman Personality Profile is the test I used to write this fic, I don’t know where people can take the test but if you want to know more there’s a Wikipedia page about it. I categorized Liam as a blue dominant colour, white comes to a second, yellow for a third and red for a fourth; I feel that’s his order but it changes a lot in different stages. Thank you immensely for reading.


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